A Romantic InterludeGone Wrong
by Aleanor Black
Summary: Preparing a romantic dinner for your significant other has its problems.  Too bad Mike didn't know about them ahead of time.


**Disclaimer: So I don't own any characters in this story. They belong to Vince McMahan and his gigantic company while Michael Mizanin and John Hennigan are paid to portray them. I'm not making a profit from this story, but those two dudes are getting a huge promotion and they don't know it yet!  
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**~*A Romantic Interlude...Gone Wrong*~  
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The oven was preheated at 500 degrees. On the stove, the pot full of vegetables sizzled while the protruding smell filled the room. The radio played soft, loving songs while the noise of chopping potatoes was heard from the kitchen. Mike hardly turned on the radio, especially since he spends most of his days on the road. But, once in a while, listening to the music becomes a rare luxury.

"Shit." He dropped the knife and pressed his finger to his lips. The saliva mixed with blood caused the wound to sting. He hissed slightly, examining the wound and sighed in relief. Thankfully it was a small wound instead of the huge one he saw John sporting aeveral months ago.

And speaking of John, he should arrive at their apartment any minute. Mike looked at the kitchen clock and sighed. He wasn't done with dinner and there were many things he needed to finish. He planned the little dinner for a while. He wanted it to be special, a treat they rarely had time to share. Just to see the smile on his face meant more to him than the WWE Championship Belt.

Hopefully his best efforts will show through the food.

Mike wasn't much of a cook. The closet he ever came to cooking was frying chicken which turned black as his wrestling boots. Of course John lied and said it was good. Mike appreciated the 'truth', but it didn't help his ego. He leaves the cooking to John, who, despite appearances, can cook a whole meal and dessert within an hour.

"_What can I say? I had to do something during the summer."_ He remembered John telling him that. He could have taken up mechanics instead of becoming Susie Homemaker when he was a teen. Then again, Mike couldn't fix a car while John could fix it and a refrigerator. He hated to admit it, but he liked having a boyfriend who could repair things around the house. As for him, he had other things to do with his hands, if one count after night massages as a task.

Mike finished cutting the potatoes before placing them with the beef. Thank God for mothers, if she hadn't told him the recipe, he would be ordering take outs which will kill the mood, literally. He opened the oven's door and placed the tray in the middle rack. He closed it with a click and stirred the greens in the pot. He wiped his hands on his apron and grinned, a job well done.

He made a three course meal without John peeving over his shoulders or instructing him. He glowed in his latest accomplishment which made his ego grow.

Mike almost left the kitchen until his eyes spotted the cake he made early that evening. The rich white cream covered the three layered cake while the strawberries laid on top; the sweet, dark red juices dripped from the cake to the plate. He spent three hours trying to make it to John's liking. He messed up many times but it was worth the sweat, pain, and tears.

Cutting a slice of the moist, vanilla flavor sweet, Mike bit it. Slowly his face twisted and a hideous frown appeared on his face. As if he tasted three days old sour milk, he spit out the chewed piece on the table. He wiped his mouth on the apron and hurried to the refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of water and drank it as if his life depended on it.

He followed every direction on the damn recipe card and yet his cake turned out awful. Unless he was stoned the whole time, there was no reason it turned out wrong. Mike rubbed his forehead.

"It will have to do," he mumbled, throwing the chewed piece in the trash can. The next time he make dessert, he will have to store buy it. It's just as good, if not more, as the box version. He just hoped his roast beef and vegetables came out good since he smelled smoke…

"What the hell?" Mike turned around and saw black smoke escaping from the oven. He groaned as he grabbed a pair of gloves and opened the oven. To his surprise, high flames cooked his scorched beef.

He jumped from the flames and scrambled for something to put it out. As he searched, the fire alarm rang which caused him to hit his head on the cabinet.

"Shit!" He cursed, pulling out a large pot and filled it with water. With quickness, he threw the water on the flames. It became larger.

Mike panicked. What the hell was he supposed to do? He tried beating the flames with a hand towel but had no effect. He checked every inch of the kitchen until he finally found the fire extinguisher under the sink. As he aimed at the oven, the water spilled from the pot, along with the now burnt vegetables. He gritted his teeth and with a pull on the handle, white foam shoot from the nozzle. It sprayed onto the flames, ceasing it for good.

Mike stared at the oven and stove. Five hundred dollars will be taken out of his paycheck as he looked at the charbroiled beef and tainted greens. He turned off the oven and stove and waited a few seconds before his gloved hands took out the overcooked meat.

He laid it on the table and looked at the mess. Black as his expensive leather loafers and tough as metal, Mike's bundle of love was destroyed. He sat on the chair and put his head in his hands.

"Everything was going great," he groaned. One romantic night he planned for John and him went down the drain. He was The fucking Miz for Christ's sake. The Soldier of Seduction, the King of Awesome, he was good at everything. How could he ruin a three course meal in ten minutes?

Mike leaned back on the chair and sighed while looking at the ceiling. How the hell was he going to explain it to John who will show up at any minute? He had to do something about the mess but not before his planned "date night."

He closed his eyes and exhaled. There was always a plan B and as much as Mike hates relying on other means, he had no other choice.

He pulled out his IPhone.  
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Mike lit the candles and placed them on the dining room table. Two full glasses of red wine sat on each end of the table, along with the decorative china plates and utensils. He reserved them for special occasions, but, then again, they hardly spend time at their home. Anytime they had a break from work was a special occasion.

He stood from the table and admired his work. The fresh smell of home cook roast beef and garlic potatoes filled his noise, while the sweet greens and baked rolls made his mouth watered. He was glad he had his favorite restaurant on speed dial. It wasn't prepared by his hands but it would have to work for the moment. What was important was having a quiet, romantic evening with his boyfriend.

Mike almost decided to take a roll when he heard the door closed. He grinned as he straightened his satin tie and greeted his lover.

"Hey baby, I have a…" Mike paused.

John held two large boxes of pizza: each specialized to their own liking. He raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to help me, Mike?"

Mike's once vibrant smile turned into a sour frown. His face turned burning red as his eyes stared at the pizza boxes. His throat tightened, making it hard for him to swallow. A failed attempt at a surprise romantic night at home and Mike felt like he wanted to hit a wall. He almost cursed out his beloved when an idea popped in his brain. Suddenly he smiled.

"One minute." Mike went inside the dining room.

Before John could say anything, Mike returned and smashed the cake in his face. He spread the crumbled dessert across his face, into his mouth and noise, making sure it covered every inch of his skin. Then he dropped the plate and wiped the rest on John's leather jacket. He smiled at his astonished lover before leaving the room. Now he felt better.

John ran his tongue across his lips and frowned.

"Babe, why does this cake taste like three days old sour milk?"


End file.
